


Intermezzo

by peoriapeoria



Series: The Private Casebook of J.H.W. [3]
Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-09
Updated: 2011-04-09
Packaged: 2017-10-17 19:57:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/180648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peoriapeoria/pseuds/peoriapeoria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is part of my series, but it is a light piece that fits somewhere before the end of Honest Deceit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intermezzo

Holmes bent slightly to bring his mouth down on Watson's. The light brush wasn't a tease, but a prelude to the deepening press of lips. A kiss was too pale a word by far for that meld of intent and desire. For long moments they embraced, Holmes stepping back slightly only to start on Watson's shirt buttons.

Watson reached for Holmes' buttons, fumbling a little at the unfamiliar liberty. Typically Holmes did it for himself; his hands were busy however. Their arms tangled as they first tried to rid the other of his shirt. They struggled out of their linens, letting them drop to the floor.

The contrast between the two men was even stronger now, Watson's heavier chest darkened with hair against the pale thinness of Holmes. Holmes' shoulders were the wider, jutting with a barely sufficient layer of sinew, his back tapering quickly to his waist. Watson's competent hands stroked over the leanness, as his face orbited from one side of Holmes' neck to the other.

Holmes, plundering Watson's mouth, slipped his long fingers between them to undo their trouser buttons. They stepped from them, leaving their carpet slippers tangled in the cuffs, Holmes halting Watson's momentum to the bed. He kissed the thick column of his neck, then twisted in his arms.

Watson's mouth dropped open, eyes sinking futilely, blocked by the juncture of his chest and Holmes' back. Holmes pulled him forward, pushing back. Watson jerked involuntarily. Pressing his face into Holmes' shoulder, he forced himself still.

"I want this." Holmes teased his fingers over Watson's thighs, hands ready to hold him in place.

"Holmes." It was a plea that died as it was whispered. Watson leaned his head against the bony back. "At least the bed."

Holmes complied, settling at the footboard without letting Watson separate. He turned his face against Watson's. "Now, Watson."

He slid the rest of the way home, arms wrapped across the shallow chest. He kissed what his lips could reach and caressed what they could not. The ancient rhythm played out, Holmes supporting them.

"Holmes." Watson was being laid back on the bed, sated and limp. His eyes sought out the answer Holmes would well prevaricate.

"Thank you." Holmes lay down, pulling the covers over them. His hand stayed on Watson's shoulder. Holmes' lips held a knowing smile.


End file.
